The Path of Conquest
by nivlac
Summary: "Walhart was said to leave this world in pursuit of new conquests. Some surviving legends go so far as to place him in the Outrealms, where he reputedly found a new continent to subjugate and rule."
1. Chapter 1

**I had to do this. It had to be done. Anyway, I want this fic to primarily focus around Walhart, but a few other characters may make an appearance. Who those characters are and what their place will be in Game of Thrones will be revealed the more you read. They may also get their own chapters and points of view. Anyway please enjoy, and tell me in the reviews who you would like to see in this fic, they can be from Awakening, or Fates.**

 **Also, as massive as the world of Game of Thrones is, I'm scared that I'll fall into a plot hole. If I make any error with the timeline, tell me in the reviews and I will correct my mistake.**

 **Have fun.**

Walhart. Some called him a tyrant, or a monster, but most people knew him as the conqueror. Yes, the conqueror, his title. He had succeeded in taking over the entire continent of Valm, and would have moved on to capture the continent across the sea, if it wasn't for the Shepards of Ylisse. Really, Robin did most of the work, their white haired tactician was quite capable off and on the battlefield.

Walhart had never had such an intense fight before he met Robin. The man was a master of the sword AND the spell, using both to knock him off of his horse the first time… the second time… and then the third time. Robin, such a little man compared to him… was able to defeat him every single time they crossed blades.

Chrom couldn't even begin to compare with Grima's vessel. The blue haired prince had come to fight him before Robin did, and told the conqueror that if he were beaten there, he would have to join the Shepards in defeating a god. Chrom would have died had his friend not stepped in, those intelligent irises glaring into his own, pure white eyes.

The rain fall was heavy, and the terrain slippery, yet the tactician did not slip, and for the third time, defeated him almost effortlessly. Walhart had allowed himself a small comedic thought in that moment. White hair equaled great power apparently. His own hair had been white since the day he was born, but the same couldn't be said for his eyes.

They went white for… other reasons.

He had scolded himself for that little joke, realizing that he sounded like that fool Cervantes thinking that his beard made him invincible.

He had made a bet with the Shepards that day and lost, keeping his word, and joining their ranks. Many of the young people avoided him, however that odd man Gregor came by to say hi to him every day, it was odd, because he distinctly remembered hurling an axe into his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind however, 'live and let live' Gregor would say.

Walhart would rarely respond.

There were only three people in the Shepards that were able to defeat him during their training sessions, only three.

Robin of course, and his overly happy child Morgan surprisingly. Walhart suspected that Morgan was already surpassing her father, but Robin would no doubt discover that on his own.

Then there was the one he respected the most.

Priam.

That man was a master of the blade, and could counter seemingly every weapon with ease. Walhart had finally met someone he could call his equal in combat. Robin was not his equal, he was above him. Begrudgingly, Walhart had accepted that after the third time of being de horsed by the tactician. Though he would never admit it, even after he sacrificed himself to kill Grima for good.

"A man so nearly my equal." He remembered saying that day.

Walhart had left for the gate that lead to the outrealms, and rode through it. No one said farewell to him, save for Priam, Gregor, and surprisingly Basilio. Yen'fay would barely look at him, and he could have sworn that Say'ri had tried to kill him at night in the camp after Grima was slain.

The masked woman fought just like her after all. Walhart had beaten her easily, but let her live, so she knew that he was still above her fighting ability.

He felt his entire being fade from this reality. Who knew what would be in store for him on the other side?

…

Walhart opened his pure white eyes after he appeared on the opposite side of the portal. The cold was the first thing that he noticed about this world. The second thing was the seemingly endless expanse of pine tree's that surrounded him, each one with tons of snow on their branches. The snow that blanketed the ground was at least an inch thick, and his horse whinnied from the chill.

Walhart wasn't bothered by the cold, he wouldn't allow himself to be. His massive horse whinnied again, and the conqueror placed a hand on its red armored neck. The horse calmed itself, and Walhart snapped the reins.

"Ya!" He yelled.

The horse obeyed, and they both rode through the forest. The wind tore at Walharts face and the cold air made it uncomfortable to breathe. However, this was nothing the conqueror couldn't handle.

Time to find his first group of people to subjugate.

…

…

…

Marcus, the chieftain of his tribe, let out a bellowing laugh. He was a heavy set man, but could still swing a battle axe fast enough to cut a man in two. Underneath the flab on his arms and body, was rock solid muscle. His tribe respected strength, and after Marcus killed the last chief, which was his older brother, he took over the entire two hundred person tribe.

He grabbed the nearest woman, pulling her onto his lap, causing him to damn near fall off of the fallen log he was using as a bench. The bonfire blazed, the carcass of a deer being cooked in its flames. Many men in the group had told him that it was a bad idea to make a fire, and Marcus killed them. No one told him what he could and could not do. If the crows came after the fire, he would cleave them in two like he did the bastards that thought they were smarter than he was.

His large beard was caked with food and stolen wine, and he was already beginning to bald. He didn't care about the welfare of these people, the only thing that mattered to him was eating, drinking, and screwing! The woman sneered at him, and Marcus only continued his chuckling. That was when he heard trotting in the distance.

He turned his head to look into the dark forest behind him, and saw a monster of a horse riding towards the fire. As it got closer, he could see that the horse carried on its back a massive old man with white hair. His armor was blood red, plated fancy stuff, and his horse also wore red armor on its hide. On his head, he wore a red crown that made it appear as if crimson horns were growing out of his skull. The man wore a black cape, darker than the night sky. He looked as if he were a devil, come up from one of the seven hells to destroy all of man.

He stepped off of his horse, and his people began to surround him, drawing crude swords and spears. They all pointed the weapons at him, and the giant red demon scoffed. He drew a giant red axe from a pack he had on the beasts hide. A gigantic, crude looking weapon, yet elegant. The hilt was black as the head of the axe, and the neck was red as his armor. The pole between the hilt and the axe head seemed to split, leaving a massive gap in the pole. The reason for that gap was lost on Marcus, but he knew one thing.

He really wanted that axe.

He threw the woman off of him, and picked up his own double edged battle axe. It wasn't anything fancy like the axe the giant lobster was using, but it was practical, and if you hit something with it hard enough, something will die.

The brown fur of the bear that his village had slain was strewn over his shoulders, the head of the bear being worn as a hood. Marcus let out a laugh.

"What do we have ere'? Lost old man? Tell you what, we'll help you get home if you hand over that axe, your beast, and that fancy red armor of yours. Don't do that, we'll gut you and feed ya to our dogs." Marcus threatened.

The old man paid him no mind, instead looking all around at the tribesman with those pure white eyes. Was he blind as well? All the easier for them he supposed. Was he a crow? No way, crows don't wear red.

"Shut your mouth fat man. Show me to your leader." The devil ordered.

Marcus scoffed.

"You're talking to him. And if you don't take back that insult, I'll have my boys kill ya." Marcus threatened.

"You're the leader? Pathetic. How could a weakling like you possibly even assume a role of command?" The old man asked.

Marcus felt a vein pop on his forehead.

"Who in the Seven Hells do you think you are you decrepit old fart!?" Marcus yelled, readying his axe.

"I am Walhart, the conqueror. Now, bend the knee to me, and swear your fealty, or I will kill you, all of you." The newly named Walhart said.

Marcus laughed, and his men joined him.

"You think some senile old man can take on an entire tribe of warriors? Ha!"

Walhart looked all around him, and sneered with disgust.

"I don't see warriors here. All I see are savages, led by a fat waste of space and air. If you are so confident, fight me man to man! We will see who the stronger one of us both is, draw your weapon!" Walhart yelled.

Marcus never felt so small in his life, and the men all flinched when they heard his booming voice. He gulped.

"I-I would, but I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately… I wouldn't be able to fight at my full potential." Marcus stuttered.

"Coming up with excuses. Truly you are weak and pitiful." Walhart mocked.

The tribesman all began looking to each other, and whispering. Marcus widened his brown eyes with the realization that he was cornered. He couldn't just say no to this fight, but if he bent the knee to him, his own men would slaughter him. The best he could hope for was exile, but he didn't know how to live off of the land! He'd die in just a few days. He had to fight. Marcus clenched his teeth, and charged towards Walhart, screaming with his battle axe raised.

"I'll show you weak and pitiful!" He yelled.

Walhart sighed, and easily dodged Marcus's overhanded swing. Marcus's axe embedded itself in the ground where Walhart once stood. The conqueror grabbed the pole of Marcus's axe, and swung his own down on it, cutting it in half.

Before the chieftain could react, Walhart had back handed him, making Marcus see white. He fell to the snow, and spat up blood. The crimson soaked into the snow, and Marcus felt Walharts armored boot collide with his ribs, sending him flying into the bonfire. The last few moments of Marcus's life were spent in agonizing pain, and he could hear nothing but the roar of flames in his ears.

He ran out of the fire, but he was still burning, his screams echoed throughout the entire forest as he flailed around like a mad man. The pain was unbearable. Eventually, he fell onto the snow, melting it as he continued to burn.

…

…

…

"Pathetic. Now all of you. Bend the knee! Or suffer the same fate as that toasted pig!" Walhart yelled, pointing a finger to the burning man.

There was no hesitation, soon the entire camp was kneeling before him. Walhart let out a huff of disappointment. If that fatass was the strongest they had, then he had a LOT of work to do.

"I am now your emperor. You will all do as I say, and even the slightest act of insubordination will result in death. Am I clear?" Walhart asked, loud enough to echo through the camp.

"Yes emperor!" He heard a man yell from the crowd.

"I don't think I heard you ALL correctly!" Walhart yelled, clenching his teeth.

"Yes emperor!" The entire camp yelled.

"You will live as I say, eat as I say, and fight as I say!" Walhart yelled.

"Yes emperor!"

"Good. Now, who can tell me where I am? Who can show me a map of the region?" Walhart asked.

…

…

…

Aemon Targaryen was blind yes, but also wise. He knew things that most men did not, and that knowledge has served the wall well. His knowledge however, did not explain why the wildings had suddenly began turning on each other, his answer came a few months after the question was asked. The scouts had said that there was now another King Beyond the Wall, this one more fearsome than the other.

He ruled his conquered tribes through fear and strength, and they say he has the power of a giant. Walhart the conqueror he was called. Some of the Nights Watch's scouts were captured by him, but were spared per his orders. Walhart had sent a terrifying message back with them however.

"The wall will be mine." The scout had told Mormont, his voice full of fear.

The tone in that voice made it sound as if he believed that this… Walhart could indeed take over control of the wall. The scout sounded absolutely terrified by Walhart, but Aemon caught a hint of respect in his tone.

This man was not only a great warrior, but a great leader. Based on the scout's reports, Walhart was _winning_ against the King Beyond the Wall. That wasn't really good news though, if Walhart united all the wildings under _his_ banner, the wall would stand little chance against his onslaught. If his title was Walhart the Conqueror, then didn't that mean he intended to take over all of Westeros? He had to take the wall to get to Westeros, why else would he want it?

This does not bode well…

There was other news besides that however, a new recruit had joined the nights watch along with Jon Snow and the law breakers. Apparently he was a master with the blade, and he fought in a way unlike anything else the denizens of the wall had ever seen.

Aemon tried to remember his name… however, all he could recall was his… odd nature.

He would rabble on and on about the power locked away in his sword hand. Mormont had considered sending him away, until he showed his abilities to the Lord Commander. It must have been very impressive if he could change Mormont's mind about something. He was very cheerful when he was allowed to join them, he said that:

"My sword hand thirst for blood, it's coursing with power! I will use that power to keep this place safe from all harm! SACRED STONES!"

Aemon didn't know what to think when he yelled Sacred Stones. He did hear the swing of a blade though after those words were shouted.

"Wow." Mormont had said.

…

…

…

Walhart sneered down at the chieftain below him. A man thick with rippling muscle, young too, a full head of brown hair. He wore a patchwork outfit made of several different animal furs. His gloves were a black leather, looking like he took them off of one of the bodies of the men of the nights watch. He kneeled down before him, eyes wide with fear.

"You think that submitting to me now will bring back the lives you've taken boy?" Walhart growled out, venom dripping from his voice.

The inside of Walharts tent was warmer than the outside, but the chill of the land beyond the wall still found a way to pierce the warm fabric. His horse had been bred for this kind of environment, so he was fine, and these wildings were used to it. Walhart rose from his chair, and walked over to the kneeling form of Jorn. Walhart grabbed the man by the throat, and heaved him into the air.

"Because of you, thirty men lost their lives today!" Walhart yelled.

The conqueror threw the man out of the tent.

Jorn attempted to flee, scrambling up from the snow, but Walhart grabbed him by the ankle. A large group of people had gathered to watch what would become of their leader. Jorn quit his struggling, and when Walhart released him, he resumed to kneel.

"Those thirty men were trying to kill our men and rape our women milord-"

"Emperor." Walhart corrected.

"Emperor. They didn't even try speaking with us, even when we saw your flag and kneeled, they just attacked outright. We would've all died if we just surrendered." Jorn said.

Walhart narrowed his eyes, then looked to the man supposedly responsible. The Steel Wolves; The group Walhart had put in charge of conquering Jorns tribe, all chuckled. Their leader, Grug, crossed his arms at Jorn, and sneered.

"Don't believe him emperor, this bastard wouldn't kneel before us like you ordered. So what if we wanted to take a few of their women and kill some of their men? That's the price you pay for messing with the Steel Wolves!" Grug yelled, raising a hairy arm and hooting.

All twenty men behind him joined in his hollering, and Walhart clenched his teeth.

"You are no longer Steel Wolves. You are a part of my army, and my army will not rape and murder people who are already surrendering!" Walhart yelled.

The hollering stopped immediately. Grug smirked.

"If you want me to be a part of this army, then you'll let me do as I please, or I'll take my men and leave." Grug said.

Walhart drew his blade, Sol, from his hip, and pointed it at Grug.

"I said no insubordination when I took over your tribe. This is insubordination! Draw your blade and face me, I'll send you straight to hell!" Walhart yelled.

Grug grabbed the hilt of his own blade, and hesitated.

"I-I'm sorry emperor, it'll never happen again I swear!" Grug yelled in desperation.

"So, you choose to spend your last few moments groveling? How pitiful." Walhart said, walking towards the soon to be dead chieftain.

Grug tried to run, but his men grabbed him, and threw him towards the conqueror, landing on all fours. He remained like that in front of Walhart, crying salty tears and begging for mercy. Walhart ground his teeth.

"Stand up and fight!" Walhart yelled.

Grug did just that, standing up with his blade raised against him, trembling like a cold dog. Walhart stood there, cool and confident, this was no more a fight than a public execution. Jorn had stood, and cheered for Walhart along with everyone surrounding them. Grug swung at Walhart, who easily dodged it. He swung at him more and more, but each swing that Grug gave simply hit air.

After dodging one last time to show his superiority, Walhart swung at the upraised arms of Grug, slicing both of his arms clean off. The chieftain screamed in horrible pain, until the conqueror drove his blade through his throat, ending his life.

He retracted Sol, and sheathed it at his hip, frowning at the corpse of the pathetic worm he had slain.

"So weak. Jorn, you may go. Join the other tribes in the camp, you are now a part of my kingdom." Walhart said.

Jorn kneeled once again.

"Thank you emperor." He said.

Taking over tribes was easy, they respected strength and not much else. It was taking the wall that would prove to be the greater challenge. Apparently they are understaffed, weak. Yet the defenses of the wall were mighty. Walhart thought of Robin.

What would the white haired tactician do in this situation? How would he take over the wall? Walhart shook his head. He wasn't a tactician, he was a conqueror. He would take it over in the same fashion he always would, with strength and bravery.

He had too in order to save Westeros. There was a threat beyond their kingdom that was just as bad as the risen, or even Grima. A danger that threatened the whole of this world, a threat that they needed to be united against. Yet from what he heard, the denizens of this country were wasting their time playing at politics. Bah! He's always despised the game of thrones, that was why he never played it. If anyone crossed him during his reign, they died, he didn't waste his time trying to outsmart a political opponent, he just conquered them. Except for that fool Excellus, but he needed his tactical genius at the time. He should have just killed him like he did the other weaklings that tried to manipulate him.

They never trained their sword arm after all.

In any case, he had to conquer Westeros in order to save it. After he united them together, he would face the white walkers. After that problem was dealt with, it was off to conquer Essos. This would no doubt take many years to complete, but he still had plenty of time left.

The world would be his. This time for sure.

For he walked the path of the conqueror, and wouldn't stray from his ideals this time.

 **You like yes? Make sure to leave a review, and tell me who you'd like to see appear in this fic, I'll see if I can't find some way to implement them.**


	2. Chapter 2

**JonathanKee: I'll try my best to make it as interesting as possible.**

 **A-non-knee-Moose: I hate to shatter your hopes and dreams, but romance for Walhart? Ehh… I don't think so. And I definitely wouldn't put him with a certain archer, sorry bud, that's just not mkay, mkay? Anyway, I'm glad that you're enjoying the story.**

 **PrincessArien: Thank you for the support, and I hope that I can live up to your expectations with this new chapter.**

 **Corrinlone77: I will.**

 **Bobby McFuergeson: Thank you space nigga.**

 **SchattenSolda08: Someone had to do it. So I did it. I hope you enjoy the story.**

 **Duesal Bladesinger: Maybe that tactician will show up later in the story.**

 **Rocking Red Reaper: I really like your name. Also, I might implement them somehow.**

 **Lord-Krun: Thank you ser.**

 **FanboyX: Ice cool?**

 **Mr I hate znt nobles kill em: I fucked that up and I know I said I'd fixed it but I'm lazy as hell.**

 **T7743hti: This isn't necessarily about them fighting each other buddy. This is about Walhart conquering Westeros. I don't see why you would complain about seeing other FE characters show up.**

 **Anyway. I hope you enjoy this new chapter, though I feel like I fucked something up. If you lovely fans could tell me what I did wrong, that would be great. One of them being how you spell the bald cannibals tribes name. Is it Thens? Or is it something else? I am a simple tard needing a wrangler for that kind of thing.**

Walhart shifted in his saddle. His horse whinnied, causing the nearby wildings in his army to flinch. Some of them were nervous around his beast, many of them had rarely ever seen a horse before, and those who had weren't used to a horse this size. Walhart let out a breath, seeing the air fog up in front of him. The conqueror looked to his left, then his right, seeing his fur-clad army stretching out in either direction.

Large barbaric bearded men and ferocious fiery women, all serving under him. They used to be nothing more than savages when he first came here a few months ago, now they were a true army. Disciplined and with purpose. Walhart honestly doubted that the free folk would serve under him if they thought he couldn't get them through the wall.

What banded them together wasn't just fear of him. It was a need to escape the threat of the White Walkers. He had fought one of the elite ones. With the ice-colored wrinkly skin and eyes so blue that they made him cold to look at them. His axe had been able to slay the beast, shattering it into a dozen pieces.

Others had tried to bring it down, but their weapons broke against the monster like a wine glass hitting a wall. Walhart had to step in to bring the walking corpse down, and the fight was one of his most intense yet. It was nothing compared to fighting Robin, or even Priam, but it was still the most challenging fight he had ever had since he showed up in Westeros.

After the incident with Jorn and the Steel Wolves, Walhart had taken one half of the aptly named 'haunted forest.' After looking at a map of the region, he saw that he was near the Bay of Seals when he first appeared. The tribes he conquered had given him an army of fifty-thousand, half of the fighting force from beyond the wall.

He had pushed Mance Raider's army back against the Frostfang Mountains. They had nowhere to go, and more and more of Mances troops were coming over to his side. The wildings that were with Walhart had told him that Mance was a terrific leader, but Walhart scoffed at them.

Mance wasn't trying to save the world; he was just trying to save his people. While that was an admirable goal, he needed to realize that in order to save his people; he needed to do more than just get them past the wall. The army of the dead has done nothing but grown, while the numbers of the living dwindled. The King Beyond the Wall needed to broaden his horizons if he wanted to save his people.

Walhart was trying to do more than just save the wildings. He was trying to save Westeros, and then unite the world under a single rule. Fostering peace forever. He would eliminate the prospect of religion, so there wouldn't be another pointless crusade or war over the fact that someone else worshipped a different god.

He knew of the Faith of the Seven, and the Old gods, and apparently there was a dozen more he needed to eliminate. He was essentially pulling weeds from his future garden of Eden.

Walhart looked ahead on the snowy field, seeing a smaller army of enemy wildings readying arrows. Once he defeated these… "Thens" Then the haunted forest would basically be his. His men had told him many times that they "Fucking hated the Thens."

They were a tribe of large bald heavily scarred men. While they looked threatening, and would no doubt be an asset on the battlefield, Walhart could not bring them into his army. They were cannibalistic rapists who cared nothing for anyone outside of their tribe. It was hard enough for Mance to keep them under control.

The Thens were buying time for Mance's forces to either escape or set up defensive positions. It was a suicide mission for the cannibals either way. Very few, or none at all, would survive this battle. There were a few hundred of them versus thousands of others. This battle wouldn't last long.

This could very well be the last battle as well. Raider's forces moral was already decimated, after this victory; the rest would most likely surrender.

Walhart grit his teeth, and let out a bellowing yell that echoed out across the battlefield.

"To battle!"

His wildings all screamed, charging against the enemy forces with Walhart leading the charge. He was the only one with a horse, so it was only expected that he would crash against the enemy first. That was just fine with him. The enemy unleashed a hail of arrows into the air, and they crashed down on Walhart and his army.

The armor on him and his horse deflected the arrows, but the troops behind him fell when arrows found their way into their flesh. Walhart narrowed his eyes, and drew his axe, holding it ready in his right hand.

Walhart swung his axe the moment he was within swinging range, decapitating a scarred, bald head from a pair of large shoulders. Blood flew across the snow, the first of many this day. He swung again, and again, putting all of his weight into his swinging hand. Walhart alone had broken through their front line, and dozens of the Thens were dead.

His horse stumbled and fell to the ground, kicking up snow and knocking down a few Thens along the way as it skidded. Walhart rolled and stood up the instant he stopped his motion. He stood up straight and held his axe at a battle ready position, and saw as his horse stood up and fled. That was fine; he didn't want the beast to die. Walhart looked around him, seeing dozens of the enemy beginning to surround him. He clenched his teeth, and let out a battle cry.

A Then with a spear swiped at his face vertically, but Walhart ducked his head, and charged the Then's chest with his horns, impaling the bald man. He quickly withdrew his horns, and swung behind, him, chopping off a mans upraised arms. The Then dropped to the ground, rolling in pain. Blood leaked out onto the snow from both of his victims.

Another then charged up, intent on stabbing Walhart in the armpit with a crude iron sword. Walhart dodged to the left, and swiftly lifted his axe's blunt end up. It collided with the Then's face. Blood exploded out of the man's nose as he was lifted up in the air. The conqueror swung at his back again, splitting a Thens chest open, blood sprayed across the snow like spilled red wine. Walhart quickly swung at his back again, catching the Then he had uplifted in the gut with the blunt end of his axe, knocking him towards the large crowd of men surrounding him, knocking them down

Several charged him at once, their weapons bouncing off of his armor like pebbles being thrown at a wall. He gripped the hilt of Wolfberg with both of his hands, and clenched his teeth, putting all of his power into charging up this blow. He swung, his axe splitting dozens of men surrounding him in half. Blood rained down onto the battlefield, and Walhart let out a terrifying shout as the bodies of his victims hit the ground.

The Thens surrounding him began to back away from him, eyes wide with fear. He straightened his back, standing up straight as a pillar. He slowly turned his head, glaring at his enemies with his pure white eyes. Walhart then pulled a sword out from the hands of one of his dead enemies, and threw it into the crowd, the blade burying itself in a man's eyeball and out the back of his skull.

He dropped to the ground, his bald head pouring blood out onto the once pure white snow. The other Thens backed away from the corpse, and Walhart could hear that his army had begun battling them at the front lines. Walhart firmly grasped the hilt of Wolfberg, and charged the nearest Then. He cleaved clean through the man's legs at his knees, dropping him to the ground.

Blood pooled out from his stumps as he crawled away behind his allies. Another enemy swung a club at his head; Walhart blocked the strike by grabbing the man's wrist. He tugged on the arm, bringing the tribesman into a second man's attack. The other Thens blade cut deep into the man's throat, spraying blood all over the attackers face. Walhart shoved the body at the Then knocking him down under the corpses body. Another blow resounded off of Walharts armor, and he retaliated, swinging his axe in a horizontal arc.

He split the bald man's chest open, dropping him to the ground instantly. Walhart clenched his teeth, and threw Wolfberg into the crowd. It spun like a boomerang, cleaving several dozen bald heads clean off. The axe found itself back in his right hand, and the Thens began fleeing.

"Monster!" He heard one yell.

"Conqueror." Walhart corrected, raising his axe high in the air.

He looked back behind him, seeing his army shout curses and victory cries at the defeated army. Walhart clenched his teeth, and gave an order that echoed across the battlefield.

"No survivors!"

…

…

…

"Owain." Jon asked, looking down at the sleeping blonde swordsman.

Owain's room was surprisingly well managed. Everything was in its own place, nothing out of order. His odd curved blade which he called a 'Killing edge' was sat flat down at the foot of his bed next to his other blade. The entirety of the weapon was blue, and Owain called it his… Mystellitain? Jon could not remember the pronunciation to save his life.

Jon grabbed his shoulder and shook it.

"Owain!" He yelled.

"M-mother!?" Owain yelled, sitting up suddenly.

One of his eyes was still half shut, and he had a panicked look about his face. His rapid breathing halted once he saw Jon. Owain rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and sighed.

"Yes my apprentice? Have the forces of evil invaded our great sanctum of justice?" Owain asked.

Jon furrowed his brow at that statement. He still hadn't gotten used to the odd way that the swordsman spoke. He also tried to bury the fact that he was slightly embarrassed by Owain calling him his 'apprentice.' Jon merely wanted to learn his fighting style.

Then again… he supposed that did make him the blondes apprentice in a way. However, being as young as Owain was, he was the best swordsman at the wall. No one could best him in the sparring sessions, not even the most experienced of rangers could. Jon couldn't deny the satisfaction he felt seeing Owain best Ser Alistair in combat.

"No… I was just here to ask you a question." Jon said.

Owain smiled.

"What is it my friend, I'll be happy to answer any questions you have about anything pertaining to anything." Owain said.

Jon furrowed his brow once more.

"Well… when it comes down to it, do you think that you could best Walhart in combat?" Jon asked. "Odds are that he will be invading the wall soon; Mance raider's army can't possibly defeat him, so that means his and our forces will clash." Jon said.

Owain, for the first time in the few months that Jon had known him, frowned.

"Jon… I need you to keep this a secret." Owain said.

Jon nodded in agreement.

"I know Walhart. We fought together once." Owain said, his eyes lowering.

Jon took a step back and gasped.

"What!? You were… how? When?" Jon asked.

Owain sat down on his bed, and gestured for Jon to sit down in his chair. Jon complied, leaning forward in the oaken seat.

"This is going to be a long story, so listen well my apprentice." Owain said.

…

…

…

Inigo let out a sigh, and looked around his environment. The bar smelled of piss and alcohol, and everyone in it was glaring at him. The men and the women both. Inigo had come here to ask for information about Owains whereabouts, but he had no idea if anyone here would know anything about that. The city outside, known as Kings Landing, was insatiably hot, the hot sun beat down all beneath it.

He had seen many people half naked, if not, completely naked throughout this day, because of how scorching the sun was. Months had gone by and he had not found one of his compatriots. He wondered how Lord Xander was holding up without him, or Peri, his fellow retainer. However, there was one person who he was most concerned with finding out of all of them. Severa and Owain were high priority of course, but he NEEDED to find his wife. Not to mention Soleil.

He had an itching feeling that all of his comrades were here in this odd world with him; he just had to find them. Owain had always had this philosophy 'stay in one place if you're lost and eventually you will be found' so wherever his blonde friend was, is where he was going to stay.

In a way that was a bad thing. Owain is a VERY recognizable guy, Inigo would merely have to ask if anyone's seen a blonde weirdo with a blue sword around and eventually he'd find him. But if Owain is staying in one place then that means it will be much harder to track him down.

Severa would be easy to find though. Red head with long pigtails and a bad attitude would really be all he needed to say. His other companions had many defining traits as well. Inigo could ask 'Have you seen anyone with red eyes, pointy ears, and can turn into a giant silver dragon?' or 'Have you seen a tall blonde man with a glowing red sword?'

And his favorite 'Have you seen anyone with odd hair?' thankfully everyone had odd hair colors. That would be his saving grace in finding his many friends. He wondered what Owain was doing at the moment…

For a moment, he could have sworn that he saw two Owain's in that world nexus, but he chalked that up to a delusion.

…

…

…

"So you're saying that there are… other worlds?" Jon asked, looking perplexed.

"That is it yes." Owain responded.

"And that there is another version of yourself that you met before coming here that could do magic, had a wife and daughter, and was just as powerful as you were?" Jon asked.

"That is the gist of it." Owain said.

"You do know how… insane this sounds right? I don't believe a word of it. At all." Jon told him.

"Think about Walhart, you've surely heard the rumors that he is from another world as well? I'm from that same world." Owain said.

Jon remained silent, noticing that a sort of… chill came over the room. Owains eyes darkened.

"My counterpart, Odin, was displaced like I was. Me and him were trapped in a sort of… nexus between all of the worlds. We could not find our original realm. Somehow, we ended up here, in Westeros." Owain said.

"If this is all true… how did you end up in that… nexus?" Jon asked.

Owain looked to the ground for a moment, and looked back up to the raven haired youth.

"I have no idea. Whatsoever neither did he." Owain answered.

Jon stood up, and let out an irritated breath.

"I'm getting sick of your mad ramblings Owain! Tell me the truth!" Jon yelled, his teeth clenched.

"I am! I swear that I am my friend! I don't know how to prove it to you!" Owain yelled.

"Then-"Jon started.

"Wait!" Owain yelled, rolling his sleeve up to his shoulder.

Jon looked at the strange symbol on Owains shoulder. A teardrop shape was in the center, with two sharp wing like protrusions sticking out from either end. They were connected to a partial circle that was just under the tear drop.

"This is the mark of the Exalt. It's a symbol royal blood in my world."

…

…

…

Walharts people looked to their leader, the bonfire burning brightly behind him. It illuminated the night sky, and made Walhart appear as a silhouette to his troops. The fire had been built on a large hill overlooking the remains of Mance Raiders forces. After defeating the Thens, it was of no difficulty to track down the last of the enemy army. They killed those who fought back, and spared those who did not. A tied up Mance Raider was kneeling at his side, a look of defeat and utter dread upon his face.

"My soldiers! We have finally done it! You are now all unified under my rule! There is only but one obstacle in the way of us conquering Westeros! That obstacle is the giant wall of ice that separates you from safety! I will take it not only for you, but for the safety of the world!" Walhart yelled. "After we conquer Westeros, we will turn our weapons on the white walkers! And exterminate the wretched undead once and for all!"

His army shouted praise and chanted his name in unison, Mance looking up at him.

"Get on with it then. Kill me. There's no reason to keep me alive. You've won. Just promise me… that you'll keep them safe." Mance said, looking down at the snow beneath him.

Walhart unsheathed his sword, and cut Mances ropes. The former King Beyond the Wall looked at his hands with confusion.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because these are your people. You know best how to keep them unified. My way can only go so far. I need you to help me keep them together after we take the wall." Walhart told him.

Mance stood up.

"You think they'll betray ya after you break through the wall don't you?" Mance asked him.

Walhart straightened his posture.

"Not all of them. But enough to be significant. Will you join with me and help foster an eternal golden future?" Walhart asked, extending his hand to his defeated opponent.

Mance looked down at the offered hand, and after a moment of hesitation, he shook it.

"Very good." Walhart told him, looking back to the wilding army.

"We march on the wall!" Walhart shouted, his booming voice, echoing out across the land.

The wildings all cheered for their leader, and his cause, which they had taken upon themselves now to complete. To unite the world under a singular rule, will bring them eternal happiness, they would never rally around someone unless they _knew_ that they were going to accomplish that goal.

The wildings believed in Walhart, and his ultimate end goal. They knew, deep down in their hearts, that Walhart could bring them that promised world. Of course there were a few that doubted this, but their numbers were far fewer than the amount of people that nigh worshipped Walhart as a god. For the first time, the wildings were united to breach the wall for a greater purpose than to just "be on the other side." Now, they were determined to attain more, for themselves, and to fulfill the wish of their emperor Walhart.

Walhart, during all of the cheering, was thinking about how to breach the walls defenses with as few casualties as possible. After the cheering was done, he made his way down the hill with his former enemy, Mance Raider, and made way to his tent, their shoes crunching on the snow with every step. They had a battle to plan, and a nation to take.

 **Okay, who wants to be my lore guy? If you want to be my lore guy, your job will be to read these chapters before I upload them publicly, then you tell me if anything I did conflicts with the lore of the canon. Westeros is a massive world, and I don't want to fuck anything up, so any help would be appreciated.**

 **Before you can become my lore guy however… you must first bring me a shrubbery!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm back babes. I'm doing review replies next chapter. So leave one, or I'll cut you deep and eat your dog in front of you while rubbing myself in butter.**

Walhart sneered at Mance, and glared into the smaller man's eyes. It wasn't like him to spare an enemy like this. Robin's influence no doubt. Walhart had to make sure that betrayal wouldn't ensue after the wall was taken. The tent the two men stood in was cold, as was the entire north, but the atmosphere was also unsettling for the outside observer. Thankfully there were none.

"If you so much as question my orders, you will die. I do hope you have heard that clearly, for I will not repeat myself." Walhart told him, turning his back to him.

"I'll do as you say, as long as you can get these people through the wall. That's all that matters to me. What we need to discuss is how you plan on getting through that giant sheet of ice." Mance said.

Walhart turned back to him.

"You'll refer to me as emperor. Don't be so informal with me ever again." Walhart told him, scowling.

Walhart noticed that Mance was clenching his right fist, but then he loosened it.

"Sorry emperor." He said.

Walhart nodded, and placed his hands on the hilt of Wolfberg, the head of the axe touching the ground.

"I would know what your plan was first and foremost Raider." Walhart told him.

"I was going to have a few men climb the wall, and attack their flank while the main force assaulted the main gate. Giants and Mammoths would then force the gate open, allowing the main force through. They don't have the numbers to defend against such an attack." Mance explained.

"No they do not. However, the defenses of the wall are numerous. I want this task accomplished with as little casualties as possible. You said that mammoths and giants would peel open the gate?" Walhart asked.

"Yes. They are the only ones strong enough that can." Mance told him.

Walhart placed a hand on his chin.

"They may drop oil or other hazards onto them before they can get the chance. How will we defend against that?" Walhart asked him.

"The truth is I haven't the faintest idea. If I did, I would have implemented that." Mance said.

"A tactician you are not." Walhart said, disappointment lacing his voice. "The answer for how you united all of the tribes before I arrived eludes me."

He had expected Mance to be more… respectable. Walhart had warred against him after all, and it wasn't the conquerors easiest one. Walhart narrowed his eyes, and rubbed his chin in thought.

"I believe I have a plan." Walhart told him.

"What would that be Emperor?" Mance asked him.

Walhart narrowed his eyes.

…

…

…

Owain took a deep breath. The battle was coming, and he just _knew_ that he was going up against Walhart. Sure, he may die fighting the other wildings, but he had a gut feeling that wasn't going to be how it was. He would most definitely die, and Owain accepted that. The army at Walharts disposal was too massive to repel, it was like a horde of fire ants attacking a spider, with the wall being the spider and the ants being the wildlings.

He drew his blue blade once more, examining the many knicks and marks that covered it. Owain wondered if he would even be able to puncture Walharts armor with this. Would he even be strong enough to fight on par with him now? The last time Owain had faced Walhart was during a sparring match in their own world. Walhart beat him with two strokes.

He clenched his teeth. Owain had been training furiously ever since he got to the wall, there had to be at least a chance that he could win now. He wondered why Walhart was attempting to conquer Westeros. Was it to fulfill his dream of a unified world? He remembered talking to Robin about that very thing and the tactician said that he had changed Walharts mind; convinced him that wasn't the path to true peace.

Owain did reprimand himself when he realized that path could yield results. It wasn't worth all the lives that would be lost, no matter the end goal. If he could just kill Walhart… then all the unity that is holding the wildlings together would be lost and his conquest of Westeros would end. Owain just wasn't sure if he had the ability to slay Walhart, let alone hurt him.

The cold of the courtyard was made apparent to him when Jon snapped him back to reality, tapping him on the shoulder.

"You look as pale as Ghost, what's the matter with you?" Jon asked him, his dire wolf standing right alongside him.

The other men of the Nights Watch ran about the grounds, carrying objects and issuing out orders. The sound of metal grinding on metal echoed throughout the night. Torches lit up the night with their small flames, and the elevator was going up and down constantly, its chains straining with the weight of the men it carried.

"I'm just coming to grips with my fate. I don't think we'll be able to survive this onslaught." Owain told him, sheathing his blade.

Jon nodded.

"You along with everyone else. Mormont has sent countless ravens to every lord in Westeros and still they send no aide. They think Walhart a minor threat, but they have no idea what he is capable of." Jon told him.

"I thought Robin had convinced him that this wasn't the way…" Owain muttered.

Jon tilted his head in question.

"Who is this Robin?" He asked.

"He was my last army's tactician. He had talked to Walhart about how conquest wasn't the path to true peace, but here he is, trying to break through the wall." Owain said.

"True peace?" Jon asked him.

Owain sighed.

"Walhart believes that if he conquers all lands and unifies them under a singular rule, then there will be no more war." He said.

"Of course there will still be war. That's the way humans are. We kill each other over everything, especially religion." Jon explained.

"Walhart wants to eliminate all forms of religion forever." Owain told him.

Jon widened his eyes at that, and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the blowing of a horn. A sense of dread overcame Owain at hearing it, and he gripped the hilt of his blade. He forced a smile on his face, and drew his sword.

"They're here, my sword hand twitches with anticipation. My apprentice, it was good training you." Owain told him.

Jon looked to the ground, and took a deep breath.

"Aye, it was good training with you as well. See you in the next life." Jon said, smiling.

Owain gave a sad smile, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We may die, but at least it will be with friends and comrades." Owain told him.

"The wildings are here!" Several men shouted.

"Man the wall!" Lord Commander Mormont shouted. "Jon, you go up top, Owain, you stay down here, I have a bad feeling about this attack." Mormont told him.

Owain nodded to his elder and Jon already made way towards the elevator.

"Whatever do you mean Lord Commander?" Owain asked.

"The wildlings are acting… erratic. It's like they don't intend to attack, but to distract. They shout at us, and curse our names, but they aren't within firing range of our archers, and for some reason… I haven't seen a single giant. I fear the reason why." Mormont told him.

Owain took a deep, shaky breath.

"He… I believe he may have-"Owain started.

"Giants and wildlings both are charging the gate!" A man from one of the watchtowers shouted, his voice full of fear. "Walhart is at the helm! It's gotta be him!"

Soon after that announcement, a large boulder was flung from beyond the gate, smashing into the watchtower and knocking it to the ground in a bunch of wooden splinters. The boulder then landed on top of three other men of the Nights Watch, crushing them flat. Owain clenched his teeth, and pointed his sword to the gate.

The palisade was smashed to little bits under the giants massive fists, but none of the wildlings came rushing in. Owain saw them there, with their weapons drawn, baring their teeth at him and his comrades. Dozens of other men of the Nights Watch stood at his side, Mormont and Ser Alistair included.

The elevator was halted, and began going back down, and Owain saw the look of shock on Jon's face. The raven haired youth drew his Long claw, and Owain turned back to the gate. The giants peered over it, looking down on the men they would no doubt be smashing soon. The wildlings parted ways, and a massive man wearing blood red armor head to toe walked through the remains of the gate.

His long, pure white hair blew in a sudden gust of cold wind, and he held a massive axe in his right hand. His white eyes instantly found Owain, and Walhart furrowed his brow in confusion. He lifted up his left hand, and pointed to Owain.

"What are you doing here boy?" Walhart asked.

The other men of the nights watch looked to where Walhart was pointing, and saw Owain. They all held a look of confusion in their eyes, especially Mormont. Jon ran right alongside Owain, and held his sword to Walhart.

"Walhart! You must leave this place!" Owain shouted. "Conquest only leads to death and rebellion! I thought you learned that much from Robin!"

Walhart put his hand down.

"Robins way will not work with this world. If I do not conquer Westeros, then Westeros will fall not to me, but the legions of the dead." Walhart explained.

Legions of the dead? The other men began whispering to each other, and Mormont scowled.

"It does not have to be this way Lord Commander Mormont." Walhart said. "Just allow us through, and I will spare you and your men, I will not extend this courtesy a second time."

Owain had to do his best not to quake in his boots. Walhart was serious about this.

Mormont took a deep breath.

"How is it you know who I am?" He asked Walhart.

"Your old comrade Mance told me of you. Now lay down your weapons, and pledge loyalty to me. Those of you who do shall be spared." Walhart told them.

More men whispered to each other, and Owain clenched his teeth.

"The men of the Nights Watch will never surrender you bastard!" Mormont shouted, charging at Walhart.

Mormont swung, and Walhart batted away his blade easily with a swing of his axe. Owain darted forward, and shoved Mormont to the ground. He brought his blade to bear, and blocked the strike that would have claimed Mormont's life. He strained under Walharts massive strength, and Owain looked to the Lord Commander.

"Get back!" He shouted.

He looked back to Walhart, and felt dwarfed by his incredible size. The conqueror had at least a foot on Owain, and Walhart sneered.

"Looking to repeat your performance in our sparring match? Be my guest boy!" Walhart shouted.

Wildlings began to charge through the gate, but the conqueror shot them a death glare.

"This is a duel! You will stay back!" He shouted.

The wildlings halted in their tracks, and Jon charged forward as well, his sword raised. Ghost charging along with him.

"Stay back my apprentice! You heard him, this is a duel!" Owain yelled.

Jon halted, but looked perplexed.

"You can't expect me to let you fight him alone!" Jon shouted.

"Just stand back!" He yelled, strafing backwards out of Walharts reach.

He got in his fighting stance, and Walhart stood with his back straight. Walhart then threw Wolfberg into the ground, the head of the axe embedding itself in the dirt, allowing the pole to stand slanted. He drew the blade Sol, a blade Owain had secretly been wanting ever since he had first laid eyes upon it back in their own world.

Owain charged forward, and clashed with Walharts blade. The conqueror strafed backwards, and charged forward with a horizontal slash, Owain ducked under it, and swung his blade at his hip. Walhart parried Owains sword away with his own, and swung in a downward arc, intent on cleaving Owains sword hand off.

Owain pulled away just in the nick of time, and Walharts strike hit only air. He darted forward again, and slashed at the conquerors face. Walhart barely had time to rear his head back, and Owain felt his blade slice his left cheek open. With blood pouring out of the open wound, Walhart scowled, and charged forward again, delivering a quick slash to Owains left arm.

Sol cut Owain to the bone on the top part of his forearm, and he quickly back flipped away. Owain ignored the pain in his arm, and gripped the hilt of his blade with both hands.

"Astra!" He shouted, charging Walhart once more.

His first slash scratched across the surface of Walharts breast plate, leaving nothing but a scratch. The second slash cut deep into Walharts side, where the area between the greaves and the breast plate left a gap in the armor. Owain withdrew his blade, and struck again slashing at the gap in the armor between Walharts forearm and bicep. Blood shot out of that wound as well, and Owain struck a fourth time, puncturing Walharts armor with a quick stab to his ribs, it wasn't deep enough to kill the conqueror, but it definitely hurt him. Owain withdrew and slashed at the conquerors sword wielding wrist. The strike didn't puncture Walharts armor, but it did knock his sword hand away.

Owain gave a hopeful smile. He really had gotten stronger with his time here. He may actually have a chance to beat Walhart.

That thought was cut short when the conqueror punched him in the diaphragm with his left hand. The force of his fist sent him reeling back, and knocked the wind out of Owain. His chest exploded with pain even further as Walhart landed a vicious vertical slash across his chest. Blood leaked out on his black coat, and he strafed away once more.

Owain took many deep ragged breaths to try and get oxygen back into his body. Walhart simply walked towards him slowly, and the circle of soldiers that surrounded them had widened.

"You have gotten much stronger since the last time I faced you, but this will be your last battle. I will try and make it quick as we were once allies." Walhart told him.

"Don't listen to him Owain! You can win!" He heard Jon shout.

Owain smirked, and he noticed that his sword was beginning to feel… heavier. If he was going to beat Walhart, he had better make it quick, or at least injure him to the point where he can't recover. Perhaps if he used the technique that Inigo had taught him… then he could slay Walhart with one stroke. Owain had two attacks he was planning on using, but he didn't know in what order to use them in.

He narrowed his eyes at Walhart when he decided.

"Luna!" He shouted, darting forward once more.

He dodged Walharts initial swing, and leaned all his weight into this strike, cleaving clean through the left side of Walharts breast plate, cutting clean through one of his ribs. He slid, coming to a complete stop a few feet away from Walhart, Owain quickly turned back to the conqueror, seeing blood leak out of his fresh wound.

The crimson was invisible against Walharts armor, but Owain knew it was there. He heard several gasps of shock from the wildlings, but Walhart still stood tall. He turned back to Owain, frowning.

"Impressive attack. However, my resolve will not allow me to fall before you boy. I'm fighting to save Westeros. I highly doubt that your resolve is equal to mine." He said. "Now it's my turn. Luna."

Owains eyes widened a considerable margin, and he attempted to back away to no avail. Faster than the eye could possibly track, Walhart had closed the distance between them both, and cleaved clean through the left side of Owains rib cage. Owain dropped his sword, and felt the wound; He looked down, and saw that the palm of his hand was completely covered with blood.

Owain dropped to the ground, coughing up blood. His vision grew foggy, and soon, he lost control of all of his senses.

…

Walhart ignored the pain all over his body. Pain was a meaningless, and like everything meaningless, it should be ignored. He had not expected to see Owain as a man of the nights watch, but here he was, bleeding out on the ground before him. Walhart had not wished to kill him, but he stood in his way. Had he but surrendered, he could have avoided his fate. He swung Sol at air, Owains royal blood; which clung to the blade, hit the dirt.

"Owain!" He heard a man shout, his voice full of rage.

A young man with pitch black shoulder length curly hair ran towards Walhart, his eyes full of anger and hatred. A large wolf ran alongside of him, both of them coming after him.

"Jon halt!" Mormont shouted.

He swung his blade at him, which Walhart parried away with ease. The wolf jumped at him from his left, and Walhart reacted lighting fast, slamming the hilt of Sol into the base of the wolfs skull. The beast was out for the count, but the boy swung at him again, and again. Walhart looked into Jon's brown eyes, burning with a will to accomplish his revenge.

He blocked his sword again, and Walhart rammed his left shoulder into the boy's forehead, knocking him to the ground with ease. Blood poured from his forehead, and he lay flat on his back, right next to Owain and his beast. Walhart sneered in disappointment.

"Pathetic." He said, looking back up to Mormont.

"Order your men to lay down their arms, or you will all suffer the same fate as Owain!" Walhart shouted.

A few of the weaker willed looking of the Nights Watch dropped their weapons and kneeled before him. Many others, including Mormont, still stood tall. He sheathed Sol, and held his right hand out towards Wolfberg. The axe obeyed his command, and its hilt flew into his grasp. Many more of the crows backed away in fear at seeing that, and many others gasped.

Wolfberg always returned to him when he willed it. It had something to do with the magic imbued in it no doubt. He held his axe up high in the air, and pointed it at the still standing members of the Nights Watch.

"Kill all who do not surrender!" Walhart commanded.

Suddenly, he heard three pairs of flapping wings, and a black Wyvern, a green Manakete, and a white Pegasus descended onto the battlefield, right next to Owain, and Jon. Almost as quick as the three of them appeared, they disappeared along with Jon, Owains body, and the wolf, flying far to the south. All of the other soldiers on the battlefield didn't take their eyes off of the trio, all of their jaws agape. Walhart clenched his teeth.

It seemed that there were more people here from his world than he thought. This could prove to be disconcerting. He took his eyes away from the sky.

"I will not repeat myself a second time!" Walhart shouted to his men.

The wildings all let out a blood curdling shout, and charged forwards, their weapons raised. Walhart simply stood and watched as his troops decimated whatever remained of the Nights Watch. Mormont had three blades driven into his torso from three separate attacking wildlings. He spurted up blood from his mouth, staining his white beard and the face of the man in front of him. When they withdrew, he fell to the ground, and a deep, pained breath. The only members that were left alone were the kneeling ones. Only they remained after all was said and done.

Walhart walked over to his prone form as the clashing of steel resounded throughout the courtyard. The Lord Commander looked up at him, and clenched his teeth in rage.

"Westeros will be mine. The wall was merely an obstacle to be hopped. Now, the rest of the seven kingdoms will fall beneath my rule." He told the dying man.

Mormont managed a pained smirk.

"You're a damned fool if you think you'll sit on the iron throne…" He said, his breathing becoming shallower. "The people of the north… will never yield to someone who isn't a Stark…"

His breathing ceased, and his clenched fist loosened. The Lord Commander had passed on into the next life.

Walhart narrowed his eyes at the corpse, his blood soaking into the formerly white snow around him. If the people of the North would only yield to a Stark, then it is a Stark he will bring to his side. It was simply a matter of catching one.

However, he knew that just having a Stark under him would not be enough to subdue the north. He had heard of a few houses that made the north their home that could prove troublesome to his rule. The Greyjoys were at the forefront of his thoughts when it came to that matter. Walhart had been told that the people of the Iron Islands were hard to handle. The iron born allegedly did as they pleased.

Walhart would have to end that by either eliminating the Iron Islands, or gaining Lord Greyjoys support.

Then there was house Bolton. That was the least favorable house in the north apparently. They specialized in torture and the breaking of the mind. Their family was one of sociopaths. His kingdom would not be home to a family which prides itself on their flaying techniques.

There were many other ones he couldn't recall the name of, but the north was a big place. He had to find an angle of attack, and charge forth, conquering everything in his chosen path.

Walhart looked back up to the night's sky, the stars shining brightly.

Of all of the things he must accomplish, one of the hardest would be killing the gods of Westeros. Eliminating religion was always a difficult task.

His body stung with pain. Owain had become a far greater threat to Walhart than he ever was before. With those injuries, the odd swordsman should be dead, but Walhart knew better then to dismiss the possibility that he could survive. If Owain and those other three were here… Did that mean that others from his world found their way to this one?

Walhart frowned.

If they opposed him, he would not hold back. They were either with him, or against him. He will cut down every single one of the Shepherds without mercy if he has too. He won't be able to save Westeros otherwise. A thought crossed his mind that made his eyes widen a fraction.

What if… Robin was here?

He gripped the hilt of his axe. If the tactician stood against him, then conquering Westeros would be all that more difficult.

That would be one of the only great threats to his future rule.

 **This is when shit's gonna get heavy. I'm going to kill all the people you love in both GOT and Fire emblem. No one is off the platter of death here kiddos. NO ONE.**

 **Leave a review. Or something horrible will happen to your butthole.**


	4. Chapter 4

**You've been waiting so long cunts. I'm sorry. Having two jobs absorb a lot of my time.**

Walhart's pure white eyes found the corpses of the former Nights Watch members. The morning sun bled over the peak of the wall, and the brisk air bit at his exposed skin. His wounds had been treated shortly after the battle had ended, and soon the punctures in his armor would be mended in the forge here as well.

His soldiers marched about, donning the weapons of the fallen warriors strewn about the keep. Blood soaked the snow like spilled wine on white drapery. The fallen nights watch members were laid upon pyres to be burned by the surviving members.

Freshly falling snow did little to cover up the mess of gore and bright red blood. After some interrogation of the survivors, Walhart knew who his first opponents would be in the North. House Umber, and Clan Wull. As it so happened, Ned Stark had been executed in King's Landing, leaving his son, Robb Stark, warden of the north. Most of House Umber and Clan Wull's men had marched off to war, leaving only a small army to defend their homes.

They would prove easy to bowl over, and Walhart would take their families as hostages, forcing them to swear fealty to him. Then he needed to march on Winterfell immediately. Apparently, there remained a single Stark there that he could capture. He may not have been Robb, but just having one Stark should be enough to give the North pause.

Winterfell had sturdy defenses, but his giants could easily break down the gate. If Walhart had access to a skilled enough black smith and a large enough forge, he could have armor created for his giants that would make them living siege engines. This was just all to come. It would be a while before he reached Winterfell.

That long march would give the north ample time to prepare themselves however.

The dull pain in his side reminded him of Owain's new strength. If Walhart were a lesser man, he would have lost. The troops that had surrendered to Walharts forces were spared, as he had ordered. He looked to the blind old man, Maestar Aemon, who stood beside him.

"Burn your brothers." Walhart said. "I will leave troops to man the wall. Every fortress will hold a thousand men. The white walkers must not breach it. I will send more after I conquer the whole of this continent."

Aemon simply remained silent for a moment. His white eyes shutting.

"Why would you leave that many forces here?" He asked, lacking any sort of emotion whatsoever. "That's near half of your forces. You'll need them to take the North."

"I told you." Walhart said. "The white walkers cannot breach the wall. The casualties here will seem poultry in comparison to the lives that will be lost should they make it through. I'm doing this to save your country."

Maestar Aemon didn't respond after that, simply remaining silent. Walhart frowned, and turned away from him, his black cape flowing through the air. He walked down the wooden steps into the snow, and looked for Jorn, who had received a hefty promotion from Walhart due to his skill in the battle.

"Get me the fat man." Walhart said. "I have a question for him."

Jorn nodded, and scampered off in search of Sam. There was no way he was any use in a physical battle, but Walhart could tell the boy was bright. After a few minutes of waiting, the wilding returned with the chunky nights watch member following right behind. His round face quaked with fear, and his brown eyes conveyed exactly how he felt about his current situation, constantly dodging eye contact with the conqueror.

"What is the first major fort my forces will come across boy. Speak it and speak it true or you shall be executed."

He fidgeted with his hands, and switched from foot to foot.

"I-It's Last Hearth!" Sam shouted. "Ruled over by Jon Greatjon Umber of house Umber! Their sigil is a roaring giant, brown-haired and wearing a skin, with broken silver chains, on flame-red background… it's shaped like a shield."

"Excellent. Point it out on the maps that will be presented to you by my lieutenants. They will inform me when I need it. From now on you travel with me." Walhart said, turning his back to the Nights Watch member.

"But-"Sam started.

"You seem to think you have a choice in this matter. You do not." Walhart said, walking off towards the forge.

…

…

…

Daenerys continued her long march through the Red Wastes, the unbearable heat beating her and her followers down. She heard her dragons give off little roars from their cages. The death of her husband, Khal Drogo, still weighed heavy on her heart; but the Targaryen still had much to do. She could not join her husband in death just yet. She would power through the heat. Jorah Mormont caught one of her men, who stumbled, almost falling to the sand.

"Careful. We still have a long way to go before we reach Qarth. Just hold out until then." He said in Dothraki, his wrinkled brow covered with sweat.

Dany swallowed her spit, her parched throat feeling scratchy. She feared for what might become of her and her people if the rulers of Qarth turned them away. Her dragons as well… that thought made her quake in fear. She would not allow her children to die. Not in this damned desert.

If that witch hadn't cursed Drogo… where would she be now? Without her dragons? Her child would still be alive… and so would Drogo. The screams that she made during the fire-while satisfying- would never quell the pain she was feeling in her heart, no matter how fondly she remembered it.

Suddenly, she heard clopping of hooves from her left, and turned to see a large man riding aback a horse, seemingly being chased by five members of a rival Khalasar. Blood dripped down the side of his face, and his blue plate armor and red cape were covered with dirt. His odd blue hair was matted down, as if he had spent days traveling the Red Wastes; same as them.

He had a long blue beard to match his hair, and he held a large axe in his right hand. They still weren't close enough to make out finer details, but whatever was happening between them was enough cause for Jorah Mormont to step in front of her. He drew his sword, and urged her to get closer to the wagon.

Dany complied, and returned to where her dragons were being kept.

She saw as a spear was thrown from one of the Dothraki, hitting the horse in its back leg. It stumbled, and tripped on the sand, kicking it up everywhere. The horsemen began surrounding the blue haired man, who instantly got to his feet. They hooted and hollered at him, but that ended when the blue haired man swung his massive axe, cleaving the legs off of one of the horses.

That horse fell to the ground, causing another horse to trip over the legless one, which was neighing in pain. The axe wielding warrior took advantage of this, and cleaved the heads off of both of the downed men with two strokes, splattering blood on his face and axe. His blue eyes turned to the other three riders, and the charged at him.

One of them swung a curved blade at him, it snapped in half against his armor. He grabbed the man's forearm, and pulled him to the ground from his mount. He kicked him in the jaw as he attempted to get up from the ground, and blocked another attack with his axe right after he was charged by a spear.

He clenched his teeth, and shoved it off, swinging over his head and lopping off both of the Dothraki's arms. That same rider fell from his horse, writhing on the ground in agony. The last one, seemingly coming to his senses, began to ride away from the warrior.

He aimed his axe at the rider as he was fleeing, holding it over his head with both his hands on the hilt of his axe.

"No you don't!" He shouted.

He flung the axe, it flying through the air and finding its mark in the back of the rider. The man dropped to one knee, breathing heavily as the rider fell from his mount. Daenerys's jaw hung agape.

Jorah cautiously approached the man, and Daenerys followed quietly behind, along with her men. The axe wielder, looked up at Jorah, and laughed.

"You are going to kill a disarmed old man?" He said.

"It depends on what your intentions are." Mormont responded.

"To get out of this Gods forsaken desert. Those are my intentions." He said, huffing.

Dany walked up next to Mormont.

"Kaleesi stay back." Jorah told her.

"You don't look like you're from Essos. What brings you here?" Dany said, ignoring Jorah's warning.

"Thing is young lady, I don't know what brings me here." He said. "I woke up in this wasteland a couple of days ago… I wanted to get help from those men, but they didn't seem to speak my tongue. That… and they tried to kill me. Used to be ten of them."

Jorah hesitantly sheathed his blade, and offered a hand to him. The warrior took it, and stood up from the ground.

"My thanks." He said, nodding to Jorah.

"Might we have your name?" Jorah asked.

"Of course." He said, taking a moment to wipe some dirt from his face. "I am Hector of Ostia."

…

…

…

Walhart stared down upon the forest from which he began his conquest. The weather atop the wall was freezing, and the snow battered his armor and clung to his cape. To think that all that stood between Westeros and total annihilation was a gigantic wall of ice. Somewhere out there, the dead were gathering en masse, and when the time came, they would try and breach this mighty wall.

The wildlings that remained at Hard home were to be brought to Castle Black, and divvied out among the various castles on the wall. The strong would defend it if the time came, and the ones who could not fight would farm the land and make repairs to their resident castle.

Some of his army would remain as well of course.

Westeros had to have known that he had breached the wall by now, if Owain and his friends told anyone of his victory, which he was certain they had. That and all of the messenger ravens had been gone when they entered.

The Lords of Westeros had to have known. He heard footsteps from behind him, but did not turn his gaze from the forest below, his armored hands resting on the hilt of Wolfberg.

"Hearthfire is three hundred miles southeast of Castle Black Emperor." Jorn told him. "Sam says it'll be a seventeen day march."

"Very well. Ready my soldiers. We go at dawn." Walhart told him.

"Yes emperor. Oh and… well, I want to thank you for giving me a chance to be a part of something bigger than myself. Me and the men feel like we can actually do this. We never would have changed our ways if you hadn't showed up and set us right." Jorn said.

"What I do now I do for the good of the world, as do all those who serve under me." Walhart said. "Now go."

"Yes emperor."

...

…

…

Once the march began, they had to pass through a hole of a village named Mole's Town. It was an aptly given name seeing as many tunnels lay beneath the village. He had his forces conscript anyone that could hold a sword, and continued onwards along the Kings Road.

The plan was to follow the kings road and then go east through the forest with his men to reach Last Hearth. There, his giants would break the gates of the castle, and Walhart would seize it. The problem was navigating through the forest when the time came. His army would have a difficult time staying coordinated and maintained in the march, but they needed to take advantage of the thin numbers in the North, so they had to travel the fastest route.

Along the path, they came across many settlements and villages, and promptly subjugated them under his rule. It didn't take much considering how few soldiers there were to guard them. Walhart made sure his soldiers understood the consequences they would face if they were to rape or kill anyone. His officers made sure to get the point across that rape was punishable by death, and if they killed anyone who didn't fight them, the same penalty would be invoked.

Sadly, a few already have been executed. Such a simple rule to follow. Given time, the more violent members of his army would get it through their heads that Walhart's word was law, and to never be defied. However, for every unruly soldier there seemed to be ten others that seem to worship Walhart as a god.

They were loyal without question. That kind of loyalty would be what would give him this country.

After a few more subjugated towns, they finally began going through the forest. Jorn had told Walhart that a rumor from the northern men began to rise about him. Some were calling him Aegon Targaryen the first's reincarnation, back again to take back the Iron Throne for his bloodline and make Westeros what it once was.

Walhart was no reincarnation, and he certainly wasn't restoring what was, he was making a new system. He would destroy the New and Old Gods, he would tear down every Sept, every idol to every deity. Once he was in rule, it was his intention to make the world forget they even existed in the first place. If the people of Westeros would name him a devil, then he would let them. He cared not.

They could call him Aegon Targaryen reborn if they wanted, Walhart would correct that statement whenever he got the chance. Four giants walked on each side of the conqueror as he rode aback his horse, his horde of men behind them, ready to take Last Hearth whenever Walhart commanded it.

A few more days passed after that, and finally they had reached it. He sent a few scouts forward to see their defenses, and to confirm Walharts suspicion, they were incredibly low on man power. Mors and Hother Umber were the ones keeping the peace in Greatjon Umber's place; they were the ones he needed to capture.

After that, he would have to leave a few men here to keep the peace as well. He had sent a few more of his devote followers ahead of the army, spreading the word that Walhart was going to unite Westeros under a worthy banner.

Walharts banner.

And it would start here at Last Hearth.

The guards in the fort did seem to be more on the lookout now that Walharts presence had become known. His scouts reported to him, informing him that they seemed to be dug in for defense, even though they barely had enough men to repel an attack from an army of chickens.

Taking it would prove to be a trivial matter. His army surrounded each side of the castle, hidden in the thick forest surrounding it. The giants were to shout as loudly as possible to indicate the attack would commence. Walhart nodded to the giant standing beside him, and drew his axe, his horse whinnied, digging it's hooves into the dirt, ready to charge at a moments notice.

He lifted his axe, and the giant next to him let out a bellowing shout that resounded throughout the whole forest. It was so powerful a yell that even the leaves on the tree seemed to shake in fear. Other shouts from the giants echoed throughout the woods, and the castle was rushed by each and every side. No time was wasted, every wilding and Westerosi conscript charging as fast as possible towards the stone walls and iron rod gate of the fort.

Walhart made sure to make it to the gates first, the giants following closely behind.

…

…

…

Jorn watched as his fearless leader rode right to the front gate, two giants following close behind. Other giants closed in around the walls of the fort, holding thick tree's in their hands. They were going to try and hop up over the wall, The Emperor made it quite clear that he did not want the fortress's walls to be damaged whatsoever.

The forests cool crisp air bit at his exposed skin, but this was warm compared to the weather he was used to north of the wall. One thing that he and the men agreed on about the Emperor above all else was his bravery, it was unlike anything else he'd ever seen. No simple chief could even hope to match his valor, nor his charisma.

Whenever he walked, it sounded like the snow beneath his feet was crunching in apology. In all his life, Jorn had never even wanted to pledge his weapon to anything other than his will to survive. He put one foot forward, and then broke into a full on sprint, chasing at the heels of his leader.

A few of the Westerosi conscripts hesitated on the charge, it wasn't easy to simply betray your home country in favor of a foreign upstart, however, a few of them; much like the wildings-have pledged themselves to the cause. Many of them believe he's something Targaryen reborn. Jorn wasn't good with names, but whoever that Targaryen was, he was the first conqueror of Westeros.

Even though Walhart denied it, they simply would not stop believing that.

He would help forge the world Walhart wanted to create, even if he had to give his life in the process.


	5. Chapter 5

**ProfessorBirch** **chapter 4 . Jun 3**

 **Update pls**

 **Nivlac: Ask and thou shalt receive.**

 **Guest** **chapter 1 . Apr 16**

 **... i loved it... untill i realized you had already brought someone else over... couldnt leave well enough alone could u... One guy already against everything from the game of thrones and you had to bring over another enemy.. in chapter one! noooo dont build up something, dont give him a chance, dont actually write a story! lets just skip everything but the gore and just write about... shows how bad your pathetic fucking writing skills are.. what a waste of the endless internet space!**

 **Nivlac: you're right, you could definitely write something better than I could. Let's look at your profile and see some real writing! Oh wait, you're too scared to actually comment as your profile and did it as a guest instead. Bye Bitch.**

 **gabe. .1997** **chapter 4 . Apr 14**

 **Westeros likes to say they're civilized but they're most definitely not. Sure having a rich 1%'s not a bad thing but when the other 99%'s living in fear and squalor you know something's wrong. Depending on how well he enforces his laws (basic rights and restrictions) he may eventually just have to walk through an area to get the masses to join him. The growing "God Emperor" situation might begin to tick him off though, which is a very good sign that will cause more worship over time. Has Owain not explored Westeros yet? Since he may have just thought "Good Kingdom, Evil Empire" ( /Main/GoodRepublicEvilEmpire).**

 **Nivlac: No actually, he hasn't really explored Westeros, it was straight to the wall really. Plus I like the thought you put into this review, really means a lot.**

 **Egal** **chapter 4 . Apr 14**

 **So Walmart is trying to conquer Westeros?**

 **Nivlac: Yes, Walmart is looking to start a chain of stores there.**

 **ishygddt456** **chapter 4 . Apr 12**

 **Wow, this is really good. Didn't see any errors at all or anything, looking forward to the next update!**

 **Nivlac: Thanks babe.**

 **corrinlone77** **chapter 4 . Apr 9**

 **Good chapter. Please update sooner. This is a very interesting story.**

 **Cheers  
Corrin**

 **Nivlac: Here you are.**

 **DullReign82** **chapter 4 . Apr 9**

 **it's awesome that you updated thank you so much.**

 **Nivlac: Shaaaa**

 **Snakefang93** **chapter 4 . Apr 9**

 **Great chapter and an intruiging plot. Hope you update soon.**

 **Nivlac: Thank you ser.**

 **Rocking Red Reaper** **chapter 4 . Apr 9**

 **Nice to see an update again, so are we going to see more Fire emblem characters from different games? Xander from fates?**

 **Nivlac: I mean maybe.**

 **I've been listening to a lot of Sabaton lately. It got me amped up to write this battle. Listen to either the Heroes album or the Last Stand album. Just so cool.**

Giants. Massive men covered in furs with hooked noses and wielding pine trees as clubs simply _jumped_ over their fortifications, four of them in all. He heard the shouts of an entire army past the walls, it sounded massive, and the footsteps that thundered across the snow sounded like a small earthquake. Jeath was a simple man, just wanting to defend his home and his children from the foreign invaders.

He swept his long black hair out of his eyes and clenched his teeth. Four giants and an army weren't going to stop him from protecting his family, he would do whatever it took, and he'd even bite a giant's ankle if it meant giving them a few more moments of life. If only Robb Stark hadn't gone to war with the crown, they would maybe have enough men here to make this a prolonged siege.

They were so low on manpower however, that he would be surprised if this battle lasted an hour. His wife and children were hidden within his house's cellar at this point most likely, just like he told them to do in case of an enemy attack. If these wildings found them… gods Jeath didn't want to imagine the horror that would befall them. He gripped the brown shaft of his iron tipped spear, and held it towards one of the giants.

It didn't even look at him.

What was odd was that the giant wasn't at all being destructive; it made sure to avoid crushing any of the buildings or walls. This was not how he had heard giants to be. He had heard that giants destroyed anything they attacked, regardless of who or what it was. These giants were being awfully careful however.

A few of his fellow country-men ran past him, retreating to the manor of the Umbers. Yes, defend the two royals instead of the people. He clenched his teeth in anger, he felt ashamed of his comrades. Defending the lord was important of course, however, the manor was situated at the end of the city, the enemies were coming from the front (From what he could see anyhow) So they needed to be there to stop them from breaching the gates.

The same giant was charged by five different men with swords, and the giant swung his tree club casually, flinging them all aside in bloody heaps. The monster then turned his gaze towards the palisade, to which Jeath followed its gaze.

There, waiting just behind the gate, was a massive man atop an equally massive horse, adorned in blood red armor and a massive red-black axe. A crown resembling horns sat atop his head of white hair, and in his right hand he wielded a huge battle axe that looked more suitable for crushing rather than hacking.

He knew who it was almost the instant he saw him.

It was Walhart the conqueror, waiting to breach _Jeath's_ city. He would not allow that. Still, fear held him in place, not only of the giant, but the man waiting to be let inside his city. The giant grabbed the bottom of the palisade with one hand, and lifted it up, jamming its tree right under it, holding it in place.

Walhart then trotted into the city atop his steed. His countrymen instantly fled to the manor, while Jeath stood his ground. He knew he had no chance, his simple chainmail wouldn't stop a giant's fist, or Walhart's axe, but he wasn't going to let his family die dammit!

Letting out a scream of fury, Jeath charged towards the conqueror. The oversized lobster actually turned his attention to Jeath, and dismounted his horse, holding his axe out in front of him. Two wildings charged past their leader first though, running straight for the man of the North. One of them swung a crude axe at his face, but Jeath stepped backwards and thrusted, piercing the barbarian's throat.

The other one was a bit luckier, that wilding sunk his sword deep within Jeath's right shoulder, making him drop his spear. The wilding laughed maniacally, but Jeath just roared back at the bastard, and lunged forward.

With the sword still lodged in his shoulder, he sunk his teeth deep within the wildings throat. The warrior screamed in shock and attempted to fling Jeath off of him. However, Jeath's bite was that of iron, and he pulled his head back, ripping out a massive chunk of the man's neck.

Blood exploded from the new hole in his throat, and he grabbed at it, trying to stop the bleeding.

It was to no avail, as the wilding slumped to the ground, his blood staining the gray stone around his body. Jeath spat the flesh from his mouth, wanting to rid the iron like taste from his mouth. Blood was soaked into his black beard, and he glared back towards the conqueror.

He gripped the hilt of his sword with his left hand, and pulled it out of his shoulder, his right arm now lying slack at his side. He didn't care if his countrymen left him alone to hold the line, he didn't care if the wilding army was now flooding through the gate, and he didn't care that he was about to fight the conqueror of Castle Black.

Nothing mattered to him at the moment but his family's lives. No matter what, he would not let them die! He charged towards the massive red monarch, ignoring the blood that poured out of his wound. Walhart narrowed his eyes at Jeath, and pointed the blunt end of his axe at the foot soldier.

By all means if he was hit even by the blunt end he suspected a blow from Walhart would at the very _least_ would shatter all of his ribs if not kill him, but he was blinded by panic, the need to protect those he cared for.

Walhart yelled something at him, but Jeath would not hear it, and swung his sword as swiftly as he was able. He was not left handed, he was wounded, and he was facing a far superior opponent. Jeath had seen the mountain once, a terrifying man of impressive height. Walhart may not have been quite as tall as him, but he was certainly close.

He absolutely towered over Jeath, two heads at the least, and there was no way he could penetrate that armor, even with his good arm. His thought process was interrupted when Walhart delivered a powerful kick to Jeath's left leg. The bone instantly shattered under the force of the blow, and Jeath let out a cry of pain, falling to his one good leg.

He ignored the pain, and swung at Walhart, the sword bouncing off of his armor ineffectively. He saw Walhart drop his axe to the ground, and felt a hand grip his hair. His head was brought up with a sudden jerk, and he felt a massive armored fist crash into his nose. Spots flew into his vision, and he lost his grip on the sword. He almost lost consciousness with but a single blow to the face.

What was Walhart doing? He could have just as easily lopped the head from Jeath's shoulders, so why waste his time? Was Jeath a joke to him? He forced himself to remain conscious with sheer willpower, and swung his fist at Walharts face. The conqueror dodged his head backwards, and Jeath swung again at the man's body, no longer caring that he was wearing plate armor that would make an entire realm of the richest knights jealous.

The first strike broke a few of his fingers, and he struck again, shattering all of them in the process. He felt another fist collide with his cheek, then another, until he finally blacked out.

…

…

…

Tye was a strong boy. His father had said so, and because of that he told him to protect his mother and little brother. Father was defending the city, so it was Tye's job to defend the home. Mother looked terrified, her eyes constantly darting between the two of her children and the cellar door. A cask of mead sat in the corner, and a few wooden chairs sat around them. Mother cradled both Tye and Jaen in her embrace.

Tye's black hair matched his mother and fathers almost perfectly, but his eyes were the same doe eyed brown of his mothers, but she insisted he looked more like father. That made Tye proud, his father was the strongest man in the world, and nothing could beat him.

He heard a massive crash and heavy footsteps across their floor upstairs. Tye clenched his teeth in a mixture of fear and anger. After a moment, he heard his cellar door open, a massive brown haired man with yellow teeth and clad in white furs marched down the stairs. He held a rusty looking iron sword, and looked to his mother with what only Tye could describe as evil intent.

By time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Jaen broke free from their mother's grasp, to which mother panicked.

She reached for his little brother, but he was already too far away. Tye himself tried to break free, but she had an iron grip. The man swung his sword horizontally, cutting his little brothers arm deep. Jaen fell to the ground with a thud, weeping. The evil man reared his leg back, and struck Jaen in the gut, sending him cascading across the room.

His mother screamed something incoherently and let go of Tye, immediately charging the wilding man. The barbarian slapped her across the face, flinging her to the ground.

"It's been too long since I've had the touch of a woman." The man said, grinning.

Tye charged up to him and screamed in rage, and the wilding simply grabbed Tye by his right arm, and swung the boy into the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Spots lined his vision, and he felt like something was broken. He got on all fours, and saw that the man was lying on top of his mother. He shouted again, and charged again, his tiny fists raised.

He punched the man's back as hard as he could, but that did nothing. He tore off the top of his mother's blouse, and fondled her. Tye struck again, and again, but no matter what he did, the man wouldn't get off of his mother.

Was he this weak?

…

…

…

Walhart looked down at the broken and battered form of the soldier below him. This was a real warrior, a man that would do whatever it took to win, no plotting, no tricks. He charged Walhart bravely as his country-men fled to their lord's hovel like cowards. So far, he was the only one worthy of sparing. He released the grip on black hair, letting him fall to the ground.

This warrior had something he wanted to defend.

A wilding made to run past him and chase down the remaining cowards, but Walhart caught him with his right hand, gripping his shoulder tight.

"Take this man to the healers and treat his wounds. If he dies from something other than the wounds that were just inflicted on him, I will kill you or whoever I deem responsible. Now make haste!" Walhart commanded.

The man simply nodded, not a shred of defiance evident in his eyes, and he scooped the soldier up in his arms, running outside of the city. Walhart gripped his axe, and marched towards the Umber's manor, where a line of Northmen were standing, pikes extended outwards at the top of stone steps. Walhart sneered; at least they weren't running away _completely_. Still the people should have been the first priority.

Out of his peripheral vision, he caught one of his soldiers busting down the door of one of the houses here. He meant to attack civilians!? The gall. Walhart charged towards the broken down door furiously, his armored boots echoing against the stone with every step. The house itself was simple, just a brown oaken cabin with a single window on the left face of it.

The wilding had bashed the door off of its hinges; it now lay on the wooden floor of the house, covering a large portion of a red woolen rug. White curtains hung from the one window, obscuring his vision of the outside.

A cellar door was flung open, and below that, he could hear children and a woman screaming. Walhart clenched his teeth in anger, and charged down the stone steps. When he reached the bottom of the steps his rage only grew to their peak. A child lay on the ground, weeping, a large sword slash across his arm. Another child, a little boy no older than seven, was beating his fists furiously against the back of Walhart's wilding soldier.

A woman struggled uselessly against the bastard's strength, the top of her shirt had been torn off, and the wilding was attempting to spread her legs, a sick smile on his face. The child looked back for a moment, and froze.

Walhart approached, and pulled the child aside.

He grabbed a wooden chair next to him and immediately bashed it against the wildings skull, toppling the man to the ground. The woman covered her chest, her panicked face covered with tears. The wilding looked back to Walhart, his face curled up in a viscous snarl. Upon gazing upon Walharts noble visage however, his expression immediately softened, and he scrambled backwards.

"You traitorous mongrel… I told you all specifically there would be no plunder, no rape. Yet where does your emperor find you? With a wounded child, another fighting bravely for his mother, and a woman weeping on the ground from your attempts. You sicken me." Walhart said, venom seeping from his voice.

"P-please my lord! It was a lapse in judgment ya see, I'll never do it again! I swear on the Old Gods and the New!" He exclaimed.

Walhart kicked him in the chest, flinging him to the wall.

"You should know that I don't give a damn about your Gods. Prepare to die you fiend!" Walhart shouted, his voice echoing through the cellar.

Walhart dropped Wolfberg, the wilding wasn't worthy of its bite.

The conqueror grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him up to eye level. The wilding gripped at the armored gauntlet that pinned him to the wall, but Walhart's strength was unrelenting. He brought his fist back, and immediately went to work tenderizing the sick bastard.

Walhart was almost lost in his rage; he just kept striking the man until his grip lessened on Walharts wrist. Eventually the man simply hung limp in his grasp, but he kept striking. By time he came back to his senses, the wildings face was nothing more but ground up meat, blood stained Walharts armored fist, being invisible against the armor.

He sunk to the ground, undoubtedly dead. Walhart looked back to the two boys and their mother. The child that was wounded was still oozing blood from his wound, and the other boy and his mother merely sat there, staring at him wide eyes. Walhart eyed the wound, and looked back to the corpse of the man he slew.

He crouched down, and ripped off the corpse's fur sleeve. Walhart stood back up, and approached the wounded boy. The mother scrambled over to the boy, placing her body over her sons. Walhart furrowed his brow, and crouched down alongside them. She continued to cradle the boys head as he wept from the pain of his injury. Walhart grabbed the wounded boy's arm, the woman gasping in surprise.

The conqueror tore the remains of the child's sleeve off, and wrapped his wound, tying it shut. He stood back up again immediately, and retrieved Wolfberg. Upon receiving his axe, he instantly darted up the stairs, back into the fray.

Walhart was about to make headway towards the manor of the Umbers, but he called a few men to his side first. He informed that lot that they needed to guard the houses of civilians from anyone that may decide to harm them. He left two of them to guard the home of the family he just saved, and several others went to the other homes in the city.

He also let them know what the penalty was for the soldiers that would harm civilians, and they nodded to him after saying "Yes emperor!"

Walhart had mistakenly thought that all of his men had become reformed from the brutes they used to be. He could see now that was not the case, he still had rotten fruits in his army that needed to be thrown back into the trash heap where they belonged. Walhart marched up to the line of wildings and Westerosi conscripts that had formed in front of the Umber's manor.

The stone steps leading up to massive brown oaken door was blocked off by all of the soldiers that had retreated initially. They glared at the much larger army before them that filled the city shoulder to shoulder, and didn't flinch.

Maybe Walhart had misjudged them by calling them cowards; however, his previous thought of defending the city over the actual lord was still present in his mind. A pathway parted before him, allowing him to march all the way to the front of the line. He slammed the head of Wolfberg into the pavement, and rested his hands on its hilt.

It was a habit he had formed ever since acquiring the weapon.

"Lay down your arms and surrender. If you do, you will all be spared the might of my army!" Walhart shouted at the north men.

They didn't budge an inch, still holding their weapons at the ready. In a normal battle, they may have been able to hold the line against these normal foot soldiers. However, the giants that began to circle around the manor (And Walhart's presence of course) meant that they would not hold the line for long.

"Throw down your arms if you wish to live! Would you leave your children fatherless? Your wives defenseless? Either way, Last Hearth has fallen. Would you rather be left by the wayside defending your pitiful lords that do nothing to aid your defense?" Walhart shouted.

A few of the men shifted uncomfortably at Walharts mention of their families.

"If you defy me here, and get yourselves slain, you will have died for no reason. Do you seek a purposeless death at the hands of my army? Or do you seek a greater fate than the one that the Gods that have abandoned you to?" Walhart questioned. "Beyond the wall an army of the dead rises, growing their numbers every day. When they are mighty enough, they will destroy everything you have ever cared for! Everyone you have ever known! Even when Westeros has crumbled into a ruin of the dead, they will likely turn their attention towards Essos. The North is the first line of defense against an onslaught that would destroy the world! Would you stand idle while they turn your friends and loved ones into flesh hungry beasts?"

Many more men eased up, and looked at each other, speaking to one another in hushed whispers.

"I give you a better choice." Walhart stated, raising his right hand outwards, palm facing the sky. "Join me, and save your world. Or die here needlessly."

A long moment of silence passed between the two armies.

Then finally, the small army of Last Hearth cast down their arms.

 **Walhart's a charismatic guy, even though he could rip your head off.**


End file.
